Page 29 of Branded By the Cowboy

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The living room looks like a Pinterest board lost its mind. Wildflowers in mismatched vases on every windowsill. Strings of white lights zigzagging across the exposed beams. A quilt draped over the mantle like a banner, corners pinned with sprigs of sage and lavender. And the makeshift aisle running down the middle of the living area, marked by mason jars filled with fairy lights and tied with simple white ribbons.

My gaze lands on Shay first as I descend the stairs with Ben. She’s glowing. Not just from pregnancy hormones or victory over Tom’s attempted prank when he tried to hot-glue googly eyes to the ring boxes, but from sheer joy.

Henry is by her side, calm as always. He gives me a nod as I descend the stairs with Ben, and something unspoken passes between us.

You’re one of us now.

It makes my eyes sting because, for the first time in my life, I’m beingchosen.

Tom’s face brightens as soon as he sees me. “There she is,” he calls. “You made it! Good thing, too. I had a backup goat on standby just in case.”

Shay groans. “Tom.”

“What? Cheese Puff would’ve looked adorable in a veil.”

Henry smacks him on the shoulder, but he’s grinning too.

And just like that, the last of my nerves settle. Because if this is what chaos looks like, I can live with it.

Then I see him, and a swarm of butterflies erupts in my stomach.

Angus.

Standing at the end of the makeshift “aisle” in a clean flannel, blue eyes locked on me like I just stepped out of some dream he didn’t know he had permission to want.

He doesn’t smile or speak, but something eases in his posture as if the ground has steadied under him.

And suddenly, everything else disappears. The laughter, the fairy lights, the goat jokes all fade into static as his gaze holds mine. Intense. Sharp. Quiet and unflinching as if he’sreallyseeing me.

My breath catches. Because this man—this gruff, wounded man—is looking at me like I’mwanted. Not just for today, and not just to fix a problem.

And for a girl who’s always been waiting for the other shoe to drop, that look feels like everything I’ve ever dared to hope for.

“All right, who am I marrying today?”

My gaze is pulled to the minister standing beside Angus—a wiry man with a beard who looks older than the church he came from.

“Are we doing a group ceremony?” he asks with a wink. “Should I just line up Sutton men and start blessing?”

Tom raises a hand. “Put me down for June.”

“Lord help her,” Ben says as we reach the bottom of the stairs.

The minister grins, unbothered. “I swear, between this family and the livestock, I’ve officiated more vows under this roof than in my chapel.” He looks at me as Ben walks me down the “aisle,” and his eyes soften. “And you must be the one with enough grit to marry this particular Sutton.”

I smile. “And questionable judgment, apparently.”

There’s laughter. Easy and familiar, as if I’ve been here for years instead of a week.

Angus doesn’t say much. Of course he doesn’t. But when he looks at me, something in his expression hits harder than any vow.

It’s not simply admiration. It’srecognition.As if he sees me not only as the woman who showed up, but as the woman who stayed.

Shay tugs me gently into place beside him, then slips into her spot between Henry and Tom. Ben lingers behind them, arms crossed, mouth twitching like he’s proud and trying hard not to show it.

The minister opens his book. “We gather here today to witness the union of two people who, by all accounts”—his mouth twitches as he glances at Tom—“have exchanged roughly seven words between them since they met.”

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